


Facio Ut Facias

by WoodlandGoddess1



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-27 02:36:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodlandGoddess1/pseuds/WoodlandGoddess1
Summary: It was perfect weather for a picnic and it was the opposite of how Gwen felt.





	Facio Ut Facias

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ella_rose88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ella_rose88/gifts).

> The title as a whole is terrible, but I was working against the clock. Anyway, it is a Latin phrase meaning, "I do for you, you do for me," which boils down to "You scratch my back and I'll scratch yours."
> 
> Millie, I know you wanted a blend of fluff and humour, but it ended up being angst with a fluffy ending. I hope you don't mind!!

It was a beautiful day; the sun was splitting the stones and the skies were such a soft blue. It stretched as far as she could see. The clouds were thin wisps floating high overhead. It was perfect weather for a picnic and it was the opposite of how Gwen felt.

She felt so cold and empty, which wasn’t unexpected.

King Uther had sent his men out that morning. Just the thought threatened to bring tears to the surface all over again. Gwen knew what would happen that morning — what _had _happened.

The entire citadel knew.

In a way, even Gwen had blood staining her hands. Because she said nothing. She did nothing. But what could she do? She was fifteen. She was a servant. She didn’t have the power to stop the bloodshed.

Not even Morgana had that power and the King favoured her above all others.

Gwen cast a discrete glance over her shoulder and looked at her mistress. Her heart panged at the sight of Morgana scribbling furiously, ink staining her fingers and her quill gliding across the parchment bound within her journal. Her mistress was seventeen and feverish with emotion. Gwen couldn’t blame her.

Sighing heavily, Gwen looked out the window again. She wrapped her arms around herself. She wasn’t surprised to see Prince Arthur and the others returning, their red cloaks cascading over their shoulders like so much blood. Gwen didn’t know how someone could feel proud to wear that thing, that beacon of hatred and cold savagery, of brutal murder.

Her stomach twisted at the sight of Prince Arthur

Immediately, Gwen knew something was wrong.

Prince Arthur wasn’t supposed to look like that — like someone had reached inside his chest and ripped his heart out with their bare hands. It wasn’t right. Bravado was his middle name. She’d known that from the beginning, from the moment she’d first seen him swaggering through the great hall amid raucous cheers from the men and flirtatious twittering from the noble girls. The shattered expression he wore now unsettled Gwen.

“Milady,” Gwen said quickly, worried. “I think something happened.”

“You know what happened.” Morgana spoke with a dark tone. But her voice was gravelly, still sore from her screaming match with King Uther that morning. “We both do.”

“Arthur doesn’t look well —”

“Good!” Gwen was surprised to hear the venomous snarl in her voice. She glanced over her shoulder once more to see the expression on her face. It was almost frightening to witness. Gwen looked away; she didn’t want to see it. It was bad enough that she could still hear the snarl in her voice. “He should be ashamed of himself! Druids are harmless! Most of them are defenceless!”

“But it isn’t that simple. You know what would happen.”

“I’d rather be imprisoned than hurt someone who can’t fight back.” Surprisingly, the snarl had vanished. Morgana sounded weary, drained of all the fire that once burned within her. Gwen turned to look at her once more and smiled sadly, heartbroken to see her friend in so much pain. She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Morgana in time to hear her whisper raggedly, “I thought he agreed with me. I thought he was better than this.”

Gwen let Morgana cling to her. She supported her as emotions trembled through her regal frame. It was easy, so easy, to forget how vulnerable and fearful Morgana was beneath her righteous anger at witnessing an injustice and the warm and welcoming persona she adopted in public. Gwen ran a soothing hand over her long tresses and said nothing, knowing there wasn’t much that could be said. It was better to sit in silence than to offer false promises and platitudes.

Gradually, the emotions coursing through Morgana subsided and Gwen suggested a rest. Morgana didn’t protest in the slightest. Gwen helped her out of her rigid formal wear and into a looser, more comfortable nightgown before ushering Morgana into bed with familiar ease. Gwen squeezed her hand before withdrawing, inclining her head as a mark of respect.

Morgana mumbled a few words of gratitude and dismissed her with a wave.

Gwen slipped away, closing the door with care. She wasn’t surprised to see guards standing sentinel outside. She knew King Uther wanted to keep Morgana safe. She also knew he wanted to keep her emotional outbursts contained. King Uther didn’t appreciate being questioned in public or faced with blatant disagreement. He was the kind of man that expected immediate obedience. He didn’t even listen to the advice from his council or so she’d heard from several anxious whispers on several occasions. Gwen pursed her lips.

She’d never liked King Uther.

Something about him made her skin crawl.

Gwen shook her head. She couldn’t let such thoughts dwell for long; it wouldn’t do to let one escape. Such thoughts were treason. Gwen twitched the hem of her skirt up from the floor and hastened down the corridor.

Most people would assume she was running errands for Morgana. No one needed to know she was concerned about Prince Arthur. Not until she reached him at least. Someone would just attempt to intervene and Gwen couldn’t let that happen. Not when she knew he’d need a soft ear after whatever had happened that morning, whatever had drawn the colour from his skin with such viciousness.

Gwen couldn’t imagine how awful it must be to be the prince. To have the full weight of the future resting on his shoulders. To have an entire citadel watching him. Hoping he’d rise and waiting for him to fall. To have the wrath of King Uther directed at him so often. 

King Uther wasn’t often pleased.

Gwen often witnessed the undercurrent of anger and disappointment directed at Prince Arthur whenever she served Morgana at meals and during public events. Not to mention the frisson of fear that bubbled up whenever King Uther entered the room. It wasn’t an obvious fear. Prince Arthur didn’t cower. He didn’t shake or whimper. But the tightening of his frame was unmistakable to those quick enough to notice it — as was the subtle search for the nearest and quickest escape route.

Gwen quickened her pace and arrived just in time to see Prince Arthur emerging from the council chambers. It was the first time she’d ever seen him shake with emotions too powerful to suppress. It was the first time she’d ever seen him so pale — the red swelling marring one cheek served to make his unnatural pallor even more noticeable. Gwen swallowed thickly, her nerves almost getting the better of her.

Prince Arthur spotted her a moment later. His frame tightened sharply, and an unpleasant grimace twisted his features for the briefest instant. His partial deflation a moment later was almost as immediate. Prince Arthur looked away, hiding his swelling cheek from view.

“Morgana must be incoherent with fury, if she sent a servant to scold me instead.”

“Actually, she doesn’t know I’m here.” Gwen folded her hands together and let them hang low. She let her nerves bleed out of her frame. She didn’t want to appear unsettled or angry; she didn’t want to spook him. She wanted him to know he wasn’t alone. That he could talk to her, if he needed someone. “Morgana is resting and I thought I might be more beneficial elsewhere.”

Prince Arthur glanced at her. Something soft and unnameable glimmered in his gaze for an instant. It disappeared less than a moment later. Prince Arthur folded his hands behind his back and said quietly, “I have no servant at the moment. You can attend me for now. Come along.”

Prince Arthur turned and strode away, not waiting to see if she’d follow. He didn’t have to look in the least. Gwen was an experienced servant. She’d been working for Morgana since she was eleven. She knew how to follow a command. Prince Arthur led her to his chambers. Surprisingly, he held the door open for her and allowed her to precede him through the doorway, which prompted a warm smile from Gwen.

Prince Arthur stared at her smile for a moment. His controlled expression wavered for an instant. His frame tightening, Prince Arthur crossed the room and unbuckled his belt when he reached the table in the middle of the room.

Gwen approached slowly, glancing at the door. He’d left it open a crack — enough to see the faint shimmer of chainmail in the corridor. It wasn’t a surprise. She knew Prince Arthur wasn’t allowed to be alone with a girl — clearly, King Uther didn’t trust his son to keep his hands to himself. Or perhaps he didn’t trust the girls. Either scenario was possible. The guards standing sentinel outside would act as chaperones until the pair of them parted.

Prince Arthur unbuckled his belt and set it on the table. His sword clattered against the wood. His hand twitched as though the sound unnerved him. Prince Arthur flexed his fingers and beckoned her closer with a toss of his head.

Neither of them said a word.

The silence between them seemed to sharpen as Gwen reached upwards and opened the clasp securing his cloak. It slipped from his shoulders and pooled at his feet like so much blood. Unseeing, Prince Arthur stared down at the fabric until Gwen crouched and gathered the cloak into her arms. Her actions jolted him out of whatever thoughts he’d been trapped in. Gwen draped the cloak over the bend of her elbow and smoothed out the wrinkles with a gentle hand.

Prince Arthur didn’t watch as Gwen set the cloak on the table with care. Nor when she reached for his right vambrace. He seemed focused on a spot somewhere behind her. But his distance wasn’t unexpected. Morgana had explained it before: it was harder to maintain a position of authority, if interactions between nobles and servants grew too familiar.

Gwen wasn’t sure she agreed with the explanation. But she didn’t argue against it and she didn’t push to bridge the distance between herself and Prince Arthur as she would with Morgana. Clearly, he felt more comfortable with a mask in place. Gwen didn’t want to upset him now. Not after his meeting with King Uther. Giving him some space to muster the shattered pieces of himself was the least Gwen could do under the circumstances.

Gwen removed his armour once piece at a time. She pretended not to the notice when the distance he’d placed between them splintered a fraction whenever her fingers grazed his frame for the briefest moment. The barrier his gambeson provided didn’t seem to make a difference: he reacted all the same. Not that she minded. Honestly, Gwen felt warmth swell inside her whenever his gaze flicked to her face and then away, his unmarred cheek turning a faint pink. Gwen couldn’t help smiling when the tension in his frame started to ease.

Prince Arthur surprised her with a quirk of his mouth. It threatened to become a proper smile when Gwen hesitated once all the pieces were on the table. Just his gambeson remained.

That was when Gwen realised just how _hot_ Prince Arthur was. His golden hair had darkened a fraction with sweat and his gambeson was almost steaming. Gwen swallowed thickly, nervous and unsure why, but she did her best to ignore the sensation as Prince Arthur watched her.

He wasn’t even pretending to look elsewhere now.

Gwen wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But she focused on unlacing his gambeson instead of dwelling on such uncertainties. Unfortunately, the process of removing it forced them into closer quarters. A nervous bubble of laughter escaped Gwen when pulling the gambeson over his head resulted in tousled hair.

Prince Arthur was handsome when polished and gleaming. She’d known that from the beginning. But there was something more alluring about the unexpected heat of him and that soft mess of hair.

His magnetism was earthy, almost raw.

It was powerful.

Gwen turned away, her stomach fluttering. She moistened her lips and focused on putting his gambeson in the hamper of clothing and bed linen waiting to be laundered. Her duties were more important than the butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. Gwen wasn’t going to embarrass herself with a show of immaturity; she had better things to do with her time.

Prince Arthur thanked her and turned away, disappearing behind the screen.

Gwen blinked in surprise and glanced at the screen. She hadn’t expected to be thanked for serving him. She’d heard about his manners — or lack of them — from various servants who’d worked for him in the past. Apparently, he wasn’t the most pleasant master to be around. Prince Arthur was notorious for shouting, for leaving lads on the cusp of being men in tears from abject humiliation.

All because the noble couldn’t control his temper.

Nor his tongue.

Prince Arthur seemed the opposite of that intolerable figure now. It was odd. Gwen wasn’t sure what to make of it. But she wasn’t going to comment on it. She’d rather avoid having that sharp tongue used on her.

Gwen turned away, focusing on her work. She didn’t think about him. She didn’t listen to the rustle of fabric as Prince Arthur stripped out of his clothes with a tired sigh. She didn’t listen to the strangled little noise that escaped when Prince Arthur dunked a cloth into the wash bowl and washed himself behind the screen. Gwen focused on fetching fresh clothes instead. Prince Arthur would need them when he finished dressing, after all.

Prince Arthur emerged sometime later. He now wore a dark purple doublet over a white tunic and a pair of black trousers. The combination of colours made his gaze seem twice as blue. After washing, his hair had turned almost black. His handsome leather boots reached his knees. Prince Arthur seemed to shine despite the unpleasant discolouration spreading across his cheek.

Gwen reached for his belt and sword.

Prince Arthur stopped her with a shake of his head.

“You don’t want it?”

“I don’t think I’ll need it.” Prince Arthur arched a brow and raked her with his gaze for a moment. He seemed almost amused. “Do you?”

“I’m not in a position to make that judgement.” Gwen spoke frankly, ignoring his show of amusement. Not to mention the suggestion that she might make a move against him. Or toward him. She didn’t have a death wish. She hoped to reach a ripe old age and wasn’t going to jeopardise that chance with some tomfoolery, frivolity, or foolishness. Gwen chose to incline her head as a deliberate mark of respect instead. “Will that be all?”

“No.” Prince Arthur sounded surprised — as though he hadn’t expected her to suggest he dismiss her. He seemed to bolster himself a moment later. “I still need someone to attend me. You’ll have to stay, I’m afraid. Unless…”

Briefly, a fusion of hesitation and discomfort flickered across his face.

“Unless?”

“You’d rather be elsewhere.” Prince Arthur looked away, avoiding her gaze. His frame tightened. His hands curled into fists at his side and his face turned a more noticeable shade of pink. “I won’t force people to spend time with me. I’m not pathetic.”

His mouth twisted with emotion as that last word escaped him and Gwen realised just how vulnerable Prince Arthur was beneath his usual bravado. Just how low he’d quantified his personal worth. His current expression wasn’t quite a sneer but it carried the same sharp pain.

Just seeing the expression on his face threatened to earn a sad smile from Gwen.

Prince Arthur and Morgana weren’t that different.

Both of them needed someone to see past their moments of ugliness and witness the softness within. Both of them needed someone to trust with their truest and most vulnerable selves. Someone to look out for them. Someone to care about them when no one else would. Because it was more than clear that King Uther could never fill those needs — no matter how hard he tried to delude himself about his skills as a father.

Gwen knew what a good father looked like.

King Uther could never compare.

Instinctively, Gwen almost reached out toward Prince Arthur. But she stopped herself just in time. She glanced at the door briefly, all too aware of the guards standing on the other side. She returned her attention to Prince Arthur less than a moment later. Gwen offered a small smile and said softly, “I’m right where I want to be.”

Prince Arthur smiled in return. It wasn’t blinding, but soft and fragile. Somehow it was far more powerful than the blinding smiles he often directed towards the nobles that swam around him during the day, and it was far more real. Honestly, Gwen felt privileged to witness it. She couldn’t help wondering how seldom such a tender smile made an appearance.

Prince Arthur breezed past her a moment later. He shoved the door open wide with a rough hand and strode away, knowing she’d follow.

And Gwen did. She followed him through corridor after corridor and down several staircases. Soon the pair of them were exiting the castle and crossing the cobblestones outside.

Prince Arthur didn’t head toward the portcullis. He led her away, toward a door at the base of the castle and to the left of the square. Gwen knew where it led — it wasn’t the first time she’d followed a noble through it. She’d followed Morgana the last time and the pair of them had settled on the grass to watch some of the older knights training, amused and mesmerised at the same time.

Prince Arthur led her to the same stretch of grass now.

The knights weren’t training now, of course.

Gwen couldn’t help feeling grateful for that. Having an armed shadow was bad enough without a field of warriors watching her discretely, determined to keep their prince safe from imaginary, duplicitous servants that couldn’t wait to get their hands on Prince Arthur. Not to mention his priceless jewels.

Gwen almost snorted at the thought. She couldn’t help smiling, though she did her best to hide her amusement from view as Prince Arthur settled down on the grass with a tired sigh and beckoned with a crook of his finger. Gwen settled down beside him a moment later and flopped down on the grass comfortably, gazing up at the soft blue skies stretching overhead.

Silence settled between them.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t an awkward or forced silence. It fell slowly, and naturally, not unlike warm hands settling a blanket over someone dozing. It was a comfortable silence — as though the pair of them had done this before.

Or might do so again.

Such a strong sense of comfort was odd.

But it was pleasant.

Gwen didn’t question it. She chose to focus on the world around her instead. Her lashes fluttered closed as Gwen basked in the sunshine spilling over her body, while her fingers spread against the grass. She felt the soft blades prickling against her skin and smiled deeply, a bubble of happiness swelling inside her chest.

Happiness was much preferable to the cold emptiness she’d experienced earlier as she’d gazed out the window. It almost seemed fitting that Prince Arthur should bring happiness in the wake of the King, warming those he’d affected. Like a salve healing an infected wound.

“I haven’t done this in a while.” Prince Arthur spoke suddenly, but quietly, his unexpected words capturing her attention in an instant. Gwen turned her head to find him looking at her. “Thank you.”

Gwen blinked. She couldn’t stop herself from blurting, “For what?”

“Joining me. It feels nicer with company, I think.”

Prince Arthur turned his face away, focusing his attention on the clouds drifting overhead. He seemed softer than before. Gwen liked him better this way; it wasn’t the prince beside her now.

It was Arthur.

Just Arthur.

“Guinevere…”

“Gwen.” She swallowed a burst of embarrassment when Arthur glanced at her in an affronted manner; clearly, he wasn’t used to being interrupted. Gwen finished softly, “Friends call me Gwen.”

“We’re not friends.”

“But we could be.” Gwen rolled onto her side slowly, careful not to rip the weaker seams of her clothes. Blades of grass clung to her skirts. She planted an elbow into the grass and rested her chin in her palm. She looked down at Arthur and watched him closely, watched the tension return. Watched him hide his fears and doubts behind a familiar mask. He was the prince again. Gwen added gently, “You wouldn’t be the first noble I befriended. You know that.”

“Morgana can have what I can’t.” Prince Arthur avoided looking at Gwen. His jaw tightened. “She doesn’t live under the same scrutiny; nor has she the same weight on her shoulders.”

“What does that matter —”

“Princes don’t have friends!” Prince Arthur sat up abruptly, his face twisting around an unexpected burst of emotion. Gwen reeled backwards in surprise and watched him in concern. His breath came short and sharp for several moments before he held one in his chest and pushed it out slowly, deliberately, bringing himself down from whatever edge he’d been near. His hand rose to hide his face as Prince Arthur fiddled with a lock of his own hair. He reiterated his point slowly, deliberately, “Princes don’t have friends. We can’t afford to have them. We build alliances instead. Each one is a deliberate and careful choice. We can’t find them accidentally, or blindly, unlike friendships.”

“It must be lonely, then. Being the prince.”

“You’ve no idea.”

The prince looked at her and his title seemed to bleed away, his frame deflating with it. And then he was Arthur again. Just Arthur. Just a boy, alone in the world and struggling under the weight of his life.

And Gwen had no idea what to do. How to help. But she knew Arthur needed help from someone — even if he’d never admit it aloud. His quiet need was written all over his face.

Her brow furrowing slightly, Gwen rolled over onto her belly, heedless of the grass stains she knew she’d gain across the breadth of her skirts. A small wave of concern washed through her. She glanced around in the hope that she’d find a distraction — for both of them — and an idea popped into her head between one moment and the next when she spotted a small white daisy, not too far away, nestled between several blades of grass.

It was almost as though the blades of grass were protecting it.

Unfortunately, Gwen needed that daisy, and the grass wasn’t going to stop her from getting her hands on it. She reached for the daisy, plucking it from the ground without an ounce of hesitation. A small smile blossomed on her face as she used one of her nails to make a small incision in the green stem. She ignored the curious stare that settled on her and plucked a second daisy, her smile growing as she focused on her task.

Slowly, carefully, Gwen started weaving daisies together to make a chain. Arthur watched her closely, scrutinising her actions in an obvious attempt to understand what she was doing. Gwen wasn’t surprised in the least. She couldn’t imagine someone had shown him how to make a flower crown when he was a small child. Such behaviour wasn’t princely, she knew. But it was pretty, and calming, and Arthur needed something soothing after reporting to his father and experiencing his obvious displeasure first-hand.

Gwen offered the flower crown to Arthur once she’d finished weaving it.

Arthur stared down at the flower crown for a moment and then flicked his attention upwards. He said nothing, but he didn’t need to. His current bewilderment was more than apparent.

“Since princes can’t have friends…consider this an offering,” Gwen suggested brightly, swallowing an amused chuckle at the thought of forming an alliance instead of building a friendship. A smile bloomed across her face as she made a point of his own wording a moment later. “I don’t offer it blindly, but with care and deliberation. I think we could both benefit from an alliance right now.”

Arthur smiled suddenly, the expression soft and tender. It was almost fragile. He glanced around surreptitiously, and then reached for the flower crown with almost hesitant flingers. Arthur held the flower crown gingerly, uncertain.

“What do I do with it?”

“You wear it.” Gwen reached for the flower crown and Arthur relinquished it immediately, frowning as Gwen sat up and shuffled closer to him. His frame tensed for a moment as she leaned into his personal space and then deflated as Gwen settled the flower crown on his head before retreating a fraction. “It’s a crown. See?”

“Oh.” Arthur’s nose crinkled. It was almost adorable. “It doesn’t look like one.”

“You’re supposed to use your imagination.”

“Father said imaginations are for strategizing in battle. Not games.”

“Well.” Gwen pursed her lips. “Voicing an opinion doesn’t make it true.”

“He’s the King,” Arthur said pointedly, glancing at the guards standing nearby, an expression of concern flickering across his bruised face. He focused his attention on Gwen an instant later and added quietly, “He speaks truth.”

Gwen almost snorted in disdain. She knew disparaging his father wouldn’t help her cultivate an alliance with Arthur, however. She’d have to tread carefully, knowing one wrong move would mean spending the night in the dungeon. Or worse.

“Believing something is true doesn’t mean it is. That is why,” Gwen said quietly, and almost gently, “we were blessed with minds and hearts of our own. We can learn the truth for ourselves without depending on others to give it to us. That independence is what keeps the world alive. Imaginations were born to fly, Sire. You know that. Deep down.”

“Arthur.” The word escaped on a whisper. Arthur almost looked surprised that he’d said his name out loud. His lips gaped briefly, and then he searched for and located the nearest daisy, leaning forward to pluck it from the grass with firm fingers. Arthur returned his attention to Gwen a moment later and offered a small smile. “Allies call me Arthur.”

Gwen grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd. All mistakes are mine.


End file.
